


They're getting bad again (they never stopped)

by ScilesMcCallinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (boyfriend), Established Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mentioned Sheriff Stilinski, Minor Violence, Protective Scott, Scott is a Good Friend, Stiles Stilinski Has Nightmares, but it's only in a video game i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 14:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16220801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScilesMcCallinski/pseuds/ScilesMcCallinski
Summary: A quiet noise fills the room and Scott shifts his attention back to Stiles. It was like a whimper, and Scott finally notices that Stiles' eyes are screwed shut, like he's in pain, scared. His hands curling tighter around the blanket catches Scott's eye, his knuckles white, and he realises just how pale Stiles has gone, and the thin layer of sweat on his forehead.





	They're getting bad again (they never stopped)

Guns fire, people scream out as the bullets pierce them, knocking them to the ground while others run, taking cover. Scott spots a building close by, within distance if they sprint for it. It's almost in complete ruins, but he reckons it'll be sturdy and secure enough to give them shelter for at least enough time to heal, get out of their enemies' firing range before jumping back in and taking them down.

"Stiles, follow me!" Scott says, already taking off in the direction of the building. 

"Wait—fuck. No, no, no, no. Scotty, we got a problem!" 

Scott stops, hearing the panic in Stiles' voice. He quickly turns back around, his stomach already twisting and turning, a sense of dread rising in his throat. Just as his eyes find Stiles in the crowd of people running, throwing grenades, shouting for their friends to get back, another gunshot rings out. 

"Fuck yo—no! You have to be kidding!" 

Scott's so distracted by Stiles' angry protests and watching his character fall to the ground that he doesn't even notice the sniper aiming at his own. Then the words "Game Over" flash on the screen in big, bold letters like they're taunting the both of them.

"That was totally unfair," Stiles says, waving his controller at the screen as Scott looks over at him, lips twitching up in amusement. "I wasn't paying attention, that shouldn't count!" He turns his head, staring at Scott. "I want a rematch."

Scott shakes his head, setting his own controller aside. "Dude, this is the sixth rematch you've asked for. I think we should call it a night and get some sleep." 

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his mouth. When he pulls back, Stiles' lips are turned down in a half-frown, half-pout. He stops, concerned. 

"Is everything okay?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. 

Stiles lifts his eyes back up to his face, widening just enough to pass for surprise and confusion. Scott isn't really buying it, he knows him too well, is too used to all of the little signs of when he's forcing himself to appear calm and okay, even when he's not. He's never been good at it, either, so it's not like it's hard for Scott to figure out that something's wrong. 

"What? Yeah. I'm okay. Totally fine. Just not that tired." 

Not only does his heart jump, but his chemo-signals betray him as well. Scott's pretty sure Stiles is more sleep-deprived than he's ever been. That's one of the reasons he asked to stay over tonight, to make sure he was getting sleep and prove he was just imagining it. 

He's not so sure he was now. 

"At least get in the bed," Scott says, moving his hand to rest on top of Stiles'. "You can keep playing the game, but I want to sleep, and I prefer having you next to me."

He kisses him again, lingering a little longer this time. Their lips are still brushing as he adds, "Makes me feel safer." 

Stiles' face does that thing it does whenever Scott says something like that. His eyes seem to soften and he looks like he's about to wrap his arms around him and promise never to let go while planning to hurt anyone who ever made him feel unsafe.

He actually did do that once and Scott didn't bother to tell him that what he really meant was that it makes him feel safer knowing that Stiles is alive, and okay, and not in any sort of danger, rather than being worried about himself.

"Okay, okay," Stiles sighs. "I'll get in the bed. But I'm leaving the TV on." 

Scott doesn't argue; he prefers noise when he's trying to sleep anyway. He gets up off the floor, Stiles following, and they both climb into Stiles' bed, slipping under the blanket.

While Scott lays down, shifting around a little to make himself more comfortable, Stiles stays upright, leaning back against the wall. He flicks through Netflix, looking for something to put on that he promises won't be loud or distracting enough to stop Scott from getting any sleep. 

Scott notes that he doesn't include himself in that. 

He brushes it off as he closes his eyes, knowing that Stiles will more than likely fall asleep soon enough anyway. Scott's seen him sleep-deprived in the past. Many times. Usually, after a week, he gets exhausted enough that he sleeps for pretty much the entire day. It's already been two weeks since Scott started noticing the signs of his tiredness, his lack of sleep, so he's willing to take a guess and say tonight will be when he finally gets more than an hour's sleep. 

He doesn't know how wrong he is as he drifts off, the warmth from Stiles so close to him helping him relax a little and tune out the quiet sound of people talking on the TV.

\---------------------

The scent of fear hits Scott's nose in strong and overwhelming waves. It's enough to force his eyes open, adjusting straight away to the nearly pitch-black of the room, the TV still on and casting a slightly harsh and too-bright glow at the bed as it quietly plays away to itself.

He takes a second to glance around the room, checking to make sure that nothing's wrong, there's no one else there. It wouldn't exactly be the first time someone's snuck into his room—or Stiles'—while they're sleeping so that they can either scare them half to death just to talk to them about something that definitely could have waited, or simply to try and kill them. 

He's relieved to see that they're definitely the only two in the house, aside from the Sheriff, sleeping peacefully in his room down the hall.

A quiet noise fills the room and Scott shifts his attention back to Stiles. It was like a whimper, and Scott finally notices that Stiles' eyes are screwed shut, like he's in pain, scared. His hands curling tighter around the blanket catches Scott's eye, his knuckles white, and he realises just how pale Stiles has gone, and the thin layer of sweat on his forehead. 

He shifts, head moving to the other side. For a second, Scott expects him to relax, for that to be it. Then another noise escapes his throat, a little louder this time, hands pulling a little more insistently at the blanket. 

Scott quickly figures out that he's having a nightmare and pushes himself up. He places a hand on Stiles' arm, making sure to keep his touch light, and gentle, and soothing.

"Stiles," he says, his voice quiet but just loud enough that he knows Stiles will hear him. He runs his hand up his arm, setting the other on Stiles' shoulder as he stays asleep, lips pressing together. "Stiles, hey—wake up. It's okay. I'm here."

Even though he's done this before, he still isn't quite prepared for the raspy, slightly hoarse-sounding scream that claws its way out of Stiles' throat as he shoots up, eyes flying open. Stiles grabs at Scott's arm, his nails digging in enough to sting. 

"Hey, hey, hey." Scott quickly pulls him closer, moving his hand from his shoulder to wrap around him. "You're okay. Just breathe, Stiles. It's okay, you're okay." 

It takes a few second—maybe more, Scott isn't really keeping count—before Stiles goes quiet, his screams turning to sobs that make his entire body shake. He buries his face in Scott's chest and Scott just holds him, continuing to whisper soothing things to him, uncaring about how wet his chest is slowly becoming.  

He notices the door opening and Stiles' dad peeking his head into the room, clearly having been woken up by Stiles' screaming and crying. Scott gives him a little nod, telling him it's okay, he's got this.

He pauses, clearly unsure. But then nods back at him, casts another worried glance at Stiles, still hidden in Scott's chest, and slowly closes the door. Scott hears his footsteps moving away from the room, but he doesn't go back to his own room, heading to the kitchen instead.

The room's quiet other than the sound of Stiles' shaky breaths and his slightly too-fast heartbeat. Scott hugs him a little tighter, running his hand gently up and down his arm. 

"I'm sorry," Stiles mutters, his voice muffled and scratchy. He turns his head, still not looking up at him as his fingers move over the little crescent marks his nails left in Scott's arm. They're already slowly healing, but Scott can still smell the scent of guilt coming off of Stiles as he repeats himself, "'m sorry." 

"It's okay," Scott says. "You don't need to apologize." 

Stiles just makes a quiet noise in response like he wants to protest but just doesn't have the energy. He does it every time he has a nightmare and Scott's sleeping over. Even when they were kids he would try and apologize for waking him up and making him comfort him. Scott always told him he wasn't making him do anything, then tried to distract him for the rest of the night. It worked most of the time.

It finally occurs to him. 

"This is why you haven't been sleeping, isn't it?" he asks softly, understanding. "They're getting bad again?" 

"I didn't want you to worry," Stiles admits, much faster and with much less prompting than Scott was expecting. "But yeah. I can't seem to even shut my eyes without them starting. I was hoping that tonight would be the exception."

"You could have just told me," Scott says, but he knows it's pointless. "We could have at least asked Deaton if there's anything he can do. Some sort of druid thing, maybe. Or I could just ask my mom if you can go back on those sleeping pills, the ones you were taking a few months ago?" 

Stiles finally turns, shifting in Scott's arms until he's looking up at him. Scott can tell just by looking at him how completely exhausted he is, the dark circles under his eyes somehow even darker now than they were earlier.

He's stopped crying, Scott notices. Although his eyes are red and his skin's blotchy with tear tracks running down both cheeks. Still, he manages a smile. 

"You're sweet, Scotty," he mutters, then leans up. He presses a kiss to the corner of Scott's mouth, surprisingly soft and gentle, like another silent apology. "But I doubt they'll help. I think nightmares about supernatural shit are more powerful than a pill."

Scott's stomach twists again, like a stab to his gut. Stiles doesn't talk about his nightmares. Ever. He used to, back when they were kids and the scariest things their imaginations could come up with consisted of getting lost and never being found, or their parents not remembering them, and on rare occasions, after a horror movie, sometimes the odd killer clown or vicious dog.

But when Stiles' mom died, he stopped telling Scott about his nightmares. He still shares his weird and crazy dreams that makes Scott wonder how he has such a creative imagination even while he's asleep, but nightmares are off limits. Especially after everything that's happened in their lives. They stopped being ridiculous and slightly funny, and became as bad as their reality.

He swallows, fingers still trailing up and down Stiles' arm. Testing the waters, he asks, "so I'm guessing it wasn't about us getting launched into space and being stuck with murderous space monkeys then?" 

Stiles pouts and Scott's lips twitch. "Okay, I was _six_ when I had that dream. And they were very big, very purple murderous space monkeys who were holding us captive in their giant space prison, so excuse me for thinking that was terrifying." 

Scott smiles now as he bites his lip, nodding. "Oh yeah, sorry. I forgot they were purple. Definitely makes them scarier."

Stiles rolls his eyes, catching on to his teasing. "Shut up." Then he looks away, the hint of amusement that had been there a second ago completely disappearing now. "No, it was, uh—it wasn't like that. It was..." 

He doesn't seem to be able to find the right words to describe it, and it only makes Scott more concerned. His nightmares were bad enough before; there was one rare occasion where Stiles did decide to tell him what it was about, after showing up at school pale and shaky, having refused to go back to sleep after it. But they seem worse now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks quietly, a little hopefully. Maybe it'll help. "If you don't, it's okay. We can just... watch TV if you don't want to go back to sleep." 

Stiles takes a few seconds to think it over and Scott waits, listening to his heartbeat. It's not as fast as it was when he woke up, despite how shaky he still is, his heartbeat almost back to a steady rhythm. His own breathing syncs with it without him even noticing. 

"To be honest, I think I'm too tired," Stiles says, and his voice seems to agree with him, the exhaustion finally slipping through. He looks up at Scott. "Tomorrow? Right now I think I just—sleeping makes the most sense. We do have to be up in a few hours after all." 

Scott doesn't let his surprise show. "You sure? We could just keep watching that show you put on. It sounded good." 

Stiles nods, sending him a small, grateful smile. "I'm sure." He pauses, something crossing his mind, his smile turning down into a slight frown. "Just don't go anywhere, yeah? I wouldn't want you running off in the middle of the night and getting hurt by some psychotic werewolf pack or hunter or whatever." 

Something clicks in his mind and he thinks he has a good idea of what Stiles' nightmare was about, just based on that comment. He doesn't say anything else about it, though; Stiles said tomorrow, so Scott can wait. 

"I promise I won't go anywhere," Scott says, and he can see the tiniest bit of relief wash over Stiles. "Now—sleep?" 

Stiles nods again and follows Scott's lead when he lays back down, shifting back to their previous positions. Except Scott keeps an arm around Stiles now, holding him a little closer. Just in case. And Stiles doesn't roll back onto his other side to face away from him like he usually does. He cuddles closer to him, head tucked below Scott's chin and his face practically buried in his chest again. 

Scott can only smile, just a quirk of his lips, and close his eyes as he moves his other hand until he finds Stiles', taking it and lacing their fingers together. He doesn't have to be looking at him to know that Stiles is smiling as well.

He makes sure he's not the first to fall asleep. It only take a few minutes for Stiles' breathing to slow enough that it's obvious he's not awake anymore, and for the scent of fear that had been lingering from the nightmare to disappear, replaced by something Scott can't quite put his finger on. 

It doesn't matter. He's just glad he even managed to get back to sleep at all. 

It isn't until Scott hears the sound of the door down the hall closing that he decides it might be a good idea to try and get some sleep of his own. He pauses, listening carefully, just to be sure that Stiles isn't having another nightmare.

But judging by the soft, peaceful-sounding little noises he makes, Scott's guessing he'll be sleeping through the rest of the night. He follows a few minutes later, and sure enough, none of them wake up until a few hours later, when Derek comes looking for them to tell them they're late to the "pack training." Scott isn't too fussed about it, knowing it was worth being a little late.


End file.
